


Bad Secret Santa

by Lori_S21



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lori_S21/pseuds/Lori_S21
Summary: Paul 'Jesus' Rovia looked down at the Secret Santa gift in his hands and didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or hurl it across the room before anyone else could see.A pair of women's underwear?Seriously?!The only consolation is how flushed a certain Daryl Dixon becomes at the sight of them in his hands. How interesting...





	Bad Secret Santa

**Author's Note:**

> **Thank you anonymous prompt from Tumblr, I hope this works for you! Please imagine that Daryl had stayed at Hilltop after Rick died and that he and Paul are together. A late merry Christmas and a happy new year to all!**
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> **So this is like…way explicit. Not my usual. Please let me know what you think. Especially the original prompter, if you’re there. I don’t know whether to feel honoured or disturbed that you chose me, but I like it!**

Paul Rovia looked down at the unwrapped gift in his hands and didn’t know whether to burst out laughing, or hurl it across the room before anyone else could see.

This had to be a mistake, _surely_?

And he had only himself to blame, naturally. He was one the who suggested a round of Hilltop Secret Santa in the first place. But in his defence, it was only to wind Daryl up. Mr Tall, Dark and Scowl-y (he was trying out new nicknames) was forever rolling his eyes at the mere mention of Christmas, making a snort of derision when Eugene had originally pointed out the time of year with a long winded explanation. 

Of course, not everyone at the Hilltop was taking part, that would be impractical with the sheer numbers it now boasted. But the majority of Daryl’s family had signed up, and Paul had snuck his grumpy partner’s name in too, guilt tripping him into taking part for good measure (“You’ll ruin it! The numbers will be off. We’ll have to start all over again…” He’d pouted. Daryl had simply glared, mouth twitching as he repressed a smile and growled out with a long suffering sigh: “Thank God yer pretty.”).

And now he held the fruits of his rewards in his very own hands. A pair of women’s…underthings.

How interesting. He held them up. Lacey. The kind he’d call briefs, but skimpier. They were black, elaborately stitched with red silk threaded throughout, and bordering the edges. A little on the large side so he didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. 

It takes more than a pair of panties to make Paul ‘Jesus’ Rovia blush. But damn, even he could admit they were kind of sexy, even though it wasn’t his kind of thing - obviously. He shoved them into his lap and tried not to grin too broadly. Whoever chose them had selected a pair that were functional and to be honest, a little slutty. Again, he wasn’t sure what his gift giver was trying to say about him.

He guessed there are two feasible possibilities for his peculiar present. Number one: There has been a mistake. He’s read the label wrong though it does appear to say ‘Paul’ on it. He peered closer at the crumpled wrappings (brown paper) with his name hastily scribbled in black marker. He supposed that at a push it could say ‘Paula…?’ The only Paula he knows is a seventy-odd year old lady who likes to tend the crops and has a penchant for crocheting. He scanned the study of Barrington House, decorated with a holly wreath and an already browning Christmas tree imaginatively decorated by the children of Hilltop (sweetly childish drawings of snowmen, Santa Claus and reindeer they have never seen outside of a book). Paula was not there and the thought of handing her a pair of panties makes him want to spontaneously combust in horror. 

So no, not an option. That left possibility number two: It’s a joke - a lame one but harmless. Either a product of a warped sense of humour, though no one seemed to be watching him, or someone was being a homophobic dickhead. Could it be they honestly thought this was present a gay man would want to receive? Even a gay man who could quite easily kick them in the face if given enough provocation. 

But the room was mostly filled with Daryl’s family, hunkered down on sofas and floor space. They wouldn’t do that surely? He was beginning to think of them as family too and thought they’d been gradually accepting him, both as a comrade and as Daryl’s partner. Anything that could potentially upset Paul would certainly anger Daryl and make him uncomfortable. They wouldn’t do that to him, Paul just knew it.

He scanned the potential suspects - mostly Hilltop residents but with a few Alexandrians (Michonne had flat out refused. He was sorry for it. She was intimidating but he knew Daryl missed her). There was Eugene, looking nonplussed with his Spam in a Can (“You can laugh now but I’m willing to wager the nutritional value when combined with the airtight vessel of this here can will make for a pretty tasty and enriching meal of which you will all feel envious.”). Carol’s eyebrows climbed up her head at the sight of Hilltop’s finest potato vodka (“Didn’t someone go temporarily _blind_ drinking this?”). Ezekiel roared with laughter at his gaudy plastic crown, the sound filling the room with its sonic boom. He had his arm around Carol and the two never looked happier.

Paul inspected Maggie, his closest friend. But she was busy beaming at her tiger romper suit for Hershel (Paul couldn’t resist. He’s a dork like Daryl keeps saying), bouncing him on her knee. Rosita actually cracked a smile in response to her green cap with the legion ‘Fight Like A Girl’ emblazoned across it. Tara said of her new yoyo: “Oh that’s original… I _love_ it!” And Aaron, with a beaming Gracie on his lap, looked thrilled with their Monopoly board. Enid was not particularly overwhelmed by her pack of balloons but managed a gracious smile.

Paul doubted that anyone there was deliberately being an ass. And if it was a ‘gay jibe’ why was he the target? They could have given a pair to Aaron (tacky with Gracie there) or even his beloved Daryl Dixon. The thought made Paul grin from ear to ear. The gift giver would have to have a death wish to do such a thing.

Another thought passed through his mind: who on Earth would even risk their neck getting these? Paul peered across the room to where Daryl was perched on a sofa next to Carol and the King (resplendent in his crown). He was holding a new set of crossbow bolts and Earl was waving at him from across the room, looking smug and not being subtle about it at all. Daryl looked uncomfortable but also pleased with his gift and Paul couldn’t help but smile fondly at him.

He caught his eye. Daryl’s expression went curiously blank as he raised an eyebrow back at him. Paul immediately knew that was his way of enquiring about his own gift. 

_Oh well_ , Paul had thought. It was only a matter of time until someone saw and he’d become the butt of the joke instead of the source of it. _Go big or go home…_

He held them up with a modicum of pride. “Someone is _hilarious_. Do you think they’re my colour?” He called across to Daryl, grinning mischievously. Of course everyone looked and after some bewilderment, hilarity ensued. Paul waved away the laughter, taking a little bow and brandishing the gift with a flourish.

“Is that your present?” Tara had choked out, looking as though all her Christmases had come early as she clutched at Rosita with delight. Paul rolled his eyes. She seemed genuinely surprised and would have been his first suspect of gift giver. He eyed Maggie to check her reaction and saw her chuckling in surprise, cuddling Hershel as she did so. The little man himself gave Paul a gummy smile and it melted his heart.

“Oh Jesus, honey.” She shook her head weakly. “How? Why?”

“Two excellent questions,” He smiled hopefully in a charming manner, assessing her guilt but finding her innocent. _Damn._

“Daddy what are those?”

“Never you mind, Gracie.” Aaron sounded pretty strangled.

_Just great._

Paul’s investigative gaze scanned the room and kept coming up empty. He spared a sad thought for their old friend Abraham. He would have been his prime suspect even though he knew him all too briefly. At least he would have known exactly what to say to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation. 

His eyes eventually landed on Daryl again (as they often did) and found his reaction to be quite surprising. The man was staring rather determinedly at the bolts in his lap, hands clenching at his sides. And even from across the room, Paul could see a light flush spread across his cheeks. It was adorable and mesmerising. 

“Who did it? Come on, confess!” He waved them for comedic effect but his intention was purely to make Daryl look up.

“Yeah, who’s perving on Jesus? Shame on you.” Tara chimed in like the annoying little sister he never wanted.

Daryl glanced at him, eyes fixed on the offending garment. And that was… Well, that was interesting. He’s seen that look before. Right before being tackled into the privacy of a cornfield, or when Daryl crawls on top of his body, prowling when Paul is spread out on their bed, waiting for him, barely able to stay still.

It was pure heat.

Paul shivered in his armchair as Daryl’s eyes met his. He bit his lip very briefly, just to see what kind of reaction that would get. Daryl practically squirmed in his seat, dark eyes locked on his. _Oh boy._

“You gonna keep them?” Rosita teased.

“Trade you for the hat?” He quipped right back, on autopilot though his mouth was entirely dry. He regretfully broke eye contact as Rosita vehemently protested such a trade.

No one noticed when he stuffed the offending article into the pocket of his jeans.

_______

 

Nobody at Hilltop called him Paul, except for a couple of notable exceptions.

One in particular sprang to mind.

This piece of knowledge had been on his mind over the next couple of weeks. He waited, biding his time before he would spring his trap, feeling nervous and excited. When the time came, he chose what had been a hard day, feeling like they needed something fun for the two of them. Daryl had spent the afternoon chopping firewood, a thankless task though interesting to watch, especially in the summer as sweat rolled down those arms. Paul had spent the day assisting Eugene with the set up of the uncooperative solar panels, with little success. He arrived back to the trailer first, made himself ready, waited.

He figured it would be a fun joke at the end of a frustrating day. Either that, or Daryl would be too tired to care so it wouldn’t matter either way.

But the memory of Daryl’s eyes on his when he saw Paul holding his gift…

It started so normal, like every other evening lately. He welcomed Daryl home with a chaste kiss on the lips, facial hair rasping in a way that had him shivering, even after all this time. Daryl’s big hands cupped his waist as they broke apart, warmth seeping through the material of his black t-shirt. He pressed his forehead against Paul’s lightly, nuzzling like a cat. Daryl leaned into him and Paul could feel how tired he was. He relaxed against the taller man for a moment, enjoying being held by him.

“Sit down, I’ll get you something to eat.” Paul said softly, brushing a tangle of hair behind his ear. His touch lingered, tracing the shell with his thumb, warming it.

“What we having?” Daryl murmured gratefully.

“A delicacy…Cabbage soup.” He grinned at Daryl’s resounding groan. “It’s delicious and nourishing.”

“That’s pushing it.” Daryl answered, voice a low rumble.

“I made it.” Paul said in fake-outrage.

“I love it.” Daryl responded instantly, snapping back to life and Paul laughed in delight. Daryl’s sense of humour could be teased out more and more these days. It was wonderful to see as he knew Daryl still had a lot of healing to do.

“Sit down.” He repeated firmly. Daryl’s arms locked round him one last time, as though reluctant to part, before releasing him. He took his coat off and hung it on the hook next to Paul’s leather trench and lobster bib, then shuffled over to the couch and dropped onto it like a stone. It was all so domestic. Serving the food, sitting beside him, chastening him to eat up, sharing tales about their days. It made Paul feel warm inside, having someone to listen to him. Someone he could care for and who would have his back in return. At that moment he felt so grateful. He never imagined he could have this, especially with this man. Some days weren’t easy, but it had really been worth the struggle and all the soul searching. He was so content he briefly debated whether or not to follow through on his evil plans. But then Daryl stretched slowly, muscles rippling under his shirt and his resolve came slamming back again.

Daryl chuckled when Paul complained about Eugene for the millionth time (“The man’s a genius but he takes so long to say so little.”). Daryl informed him about the bet the Hilltoppers had going on whether Enid and Alden would get together (“They should leave the poor girl alone,” Daryl had griped). Paul had speculated whether they had ever been the topic of such gossip before.

“Hm maybe.” Daryl said, but not as though he particularly cared which just showed how far he had come. He slurped soup noisily from the spoon (Paul was too used to it to flinch). “You were pretty obvious with all your bullshit flirting.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t love it.” Paul chided, smiling because he couldn’t help it. “I loved making you blush all pretty.” And that really took them full circle, didn’t it?

Daryl called him a horndog and Paul teased him some more just to prove how effective his ‘bullshit flirting’ truly was. Then they did all the boring, normal couple things and Paul had to stop to think that it was a miracle in of itself. Combing his hair whilst Daryl watched, helping by running it through his fingers until Paul was practically purring. Brushing his teeth next to this man, then lighting candles in their bedroom together. Daryl stripped down to a vest and a pair of boxers (too cold for less). Paul watched his muscles shift as he slipped under the covers much to Daryl’s amusement when he caught him staring.

“You coming?” It was upfront as ever. Daryl knows he doesn’t have to try too hard to seduce Paul.

It was now or never. He suddenly felt very nervous.

Paul nodded, careful not to take his eyes off Daryl as he undid his jeans and slowly slid them down his legs, before stepping out of them completely.

And had the satisfaction of seeing Daryl’s eyes go wide as saucers. 

Daryl leaned forward and gripped the sheets tightly.

“Paul, what the _fuck_?” But he didn’t sound displeased. It was breathy, a gut punch reaction. His eyes darkened as he drank up the sight of the other man in front of him.

He was wearing the panties. Whoever picked them out (he has his suspicions, clearly), knew exactly what size to choose. His fitted shirt stopped just above his waist, showing them off. They sculpted his body perfectly, riding low on the V of his hips and leaving little to the imagination. He knew how much Daryl liked the lines of his waist, loved to trail his hands there, following with his mouth. 

“Merry Christmas, Secret Santa.” Paul said in a low voice, testing him.

Paul wasn’t going to pretend they were comfortable - there was no breathability, to put it politely. But the material felt nice against his skin. Women’s underwear obviously wasn’t his thing, but after catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he could admit he looks pretty damn good in them. Especially his ass. Crammed in at the front but perfectly framed at the back. He could work with that. Black always looked good against his pale skin.

“I didn’t - it wasn’t…” Daryl stuttered in defence and the way he blushed was extremely gratifying. As was the way he wriggled in a very telling way, shifting his hips minutely. He snapped his mouth shut as though just realising it had been hanging open.

He could play it jokingly. Dance a little jig or something, but he was enjoying Daryl’s reaction too much. He looked spellbound, eyes dark with unmistakeable desire, breath quickening as he tried to stay still. “What do you think?” He teased before giving a slow twirl, making sure Daryl caught the full view. He felt wicked but he was sure Daryl had only himself to blame so would show no mercy. He put his hand on the back of his head for a moment - pin up style - and smiled when Daryl practically hyperventilated.

“Oh Jesus, Paul.” He groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face as though it was too much. He heard his callouses rasp over facial hair and suddenly wanted those hands on his body more than he wanted anything in his life.

“Still got it.” He joked, biting his lip lightly and resisting the urge to mock the use of his hated nickname (hated by Daryl. Paul was indifferent).

He had felt ridiculous initially. But Daryl seemed to be really into it - if his breathing was anything to go by - and that was pretty empowering. He saw the other man bite his lip in indecision and realised he was weighing up the urge to keep watching against the desire to take action. He shivered in anticipation.

“Was meant to be a joke. After ya signed me up…” Daryl spoke as though entranced by the sight before him. He sinuously moved until he was on his knees, fractionally inching closer to where Paul stood facing him at the foot of the bed.

“And now?” Paul prompted, stretching lightly so that the flat planes of his stomach were exposed. He opened his legs a little wider, feeling utterly shameless. He felt pretty and really liked it. He brushed some hair back behind his ear and waited. 

“Oh God…” Daryl sighed raggedly as Paul looked up though his lashes, trying not to smile smugly at his switch to a higher power. 

“What do you think now?” He insisted, dragging a hand down his clothed chest. He lifted the hem of his shirt a little, to give Daryl a clearer view.

He expected something lusty. Maybe an innuendo if Daryl’s brain rebooted on time. Or perhaps for Daryl to cringe away, embarrassed by his own urges. They were so close now and comfortable with each other, but Paul sometimes forgot how shy the other could still be.

He wasn’t expecting Daryl’s eyes to be filled with something close to awe as he whispered: “You’re so damn beautiful.”

He was so sincere, so earnest that Paul was completely taken aback. He stopped teasing him, felt shaken to his core.

“Daryl…” He breathed.

“Get. Here. _Now_.”

And you cannot disobey an order like that when growled out by Daryl Dixon, commanding but somehow pleading. Paul threw himself at him on slightly shaken legs, straight into his lap, straddling him.

Immediately Daryl’s hands were in his hair, gripping hard as they crashed their lips together and it was _fire_. He kissed Daryl over and over until he was breathless, nipping at his lips, sliding their tongues together in a rhythm that ignited his blood, sent it rushing south. Daryl kissed him frantically, more vocal than ever, moaning as Paul deepened the kiss, insistently cupping his jaw. He drew in great, shaken gasps of air when Daryl moved on to his neck, taking rough bites at his throat before sucking on his skin. He threaded his fingers into Daryl’s hair and pulled him closer in encouragement, letting out a ragged groan of pleasure as he threw his head back.

And then Daryl’s hands were sliding down his back, slipping under the material to stoke a path down his spine, all the way to his ass. He gripped it so hard, fingers trailing over lace, squeezing rhythmically and none too gently. Paul could only helplessly grind against him, squeezing his eyes shut at the incredible friction of the underwear and Daryl’s lap. 

He paused to tear his t-shirt off because his skin felt too hot to the touch. He mouthed at Daryl, trading unfocused kisses as they just slid together, Daryl bucking up into him like he cannot help it, mouth-wateringly hard. His rough hands were everywhere, trailing over his skin until Paul was melting in his arms.

“How’d you want me?” He purred into his ear, before nipping it in a way he knows Daryl enjoys. He felt him shudder in response, whether to his words or actions he did not know - and smiled in a feral manner. He squeezed his arm muscles. He really loved those muscles, how seamlessly they moved him.

“Don’t care. Don’t mind. Long as you’re wearing those fucking things.” Daryl growled out and he thought he might combust right there and then. It was incoherent but he got the gist.

With some manoeuvring and some less than gentle encouragement (“Come on Daryl, whatever you want. Move your ass before I start crying!”), Daryl flipped him so Paul was flat on his back. Daryl stretched out on top on him, body tight and warm, and still rutting frantically against him. Paul could barely hang on, wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders, legs circling his waist. He could almost cry at the friction against his cock, the material was both restrictive and silky against his skin. The pressure of Daryl’s matching hardness (already leaking through his boxers) against his was almost too much. He gasped raggedly like a runner and Daryl took the opportunity to kiss him into the bed.

“If I knew you liked it this much, I’d have grabbed a pair myself, oh God…” He managed to cry out as Daryl hotly kissed his way down his chest. He made strategic stops on the way down which made Paul’s toes curl. He scraped his teeth over each nipple before sucking hard, causing Paul to swear out loud, tugging at Daryl’s hair lightly. Daryl paused to tear his vest and boxers off and all Paul could do was pant and murmur encouragement at the sight. The man was a scarred and muscular work of art and Paul loved every last detail of him.

Paul loosened his leg lock when Daryl leaned back a little, knowing he wanted to take in the view. And what a view Paul must have made, he thought. Glistening with sweat, lips swollen, chest flushed pink from Daryl’s mouth and beard. He watched as Daryl trailed his eyes lower, following the light dusting of dark hair below his navel. Paul was rock hard and confined in the panties, a scrap of red and black lace that looked obscene. He shifted his hips minutely, loving the feel of the material on his sensitive skin. He gasped but kept his hands either side of his head on the pillow, stretched out for Daryl, despite the temptation to touch himself or the other man.

Daryl licked his lips, brow furrowed as though counting in his head. “So pretty…” Paul delightedly thought he heard him murmur.

He parted his legs slightly wider in invitation, watched as though in a fevered dream as Daryl slowly reached out to trail his hands down his chest with just a hint of nails and callouses and Paul just shivered with want. He could only stare helplessly as those hands reached his hips, trailed over the lines of his pelvis, so clever and warm. He fisted the pillow, muscular body going taut against the bed. Daryl’s hands reached the silk and lace waistband and stroked reverently. Paul’s breath juddered out of him. Daryl’s eyes were dark with desire and deep concentration. He smirked as Paul bucked up, encouraging those hands to go lower, where he really wanted them. But this was incredible too. Daryl was analysing, trailing over the material, taking in every inch of him. Daryl smoothed his hands over the sensitive curves of his inner thighs, deliberately bypassing his cock and Paul choked out a strangled laugh, throwing his head back into the pillow.

Daryl ignored him and carried on at his own pace. He reached out and stroked the soft skin of Paul’s inner arm, his wrist, before taking Paul’s hand in his, which he wasn’t expecting and had to fight down a wave of disappointment and just wait. He knew Daryl was going somewhere with this. He slowly brought it to his lips, pressed a kiss to the palm, before licking a stripe across it that made Paul cry out from the unexpected sensation. He then moved Paul’s hand down between them, so slowly, before wrapping it around Paul’s own cock, tightening it into a loose fist with his own hand securely on top.

Paul cried out and had to squeeze his eyes shut at the overstimulation. Daryl, like a puppet master, manoeuvred his hand so it was trailing up and down his length, squeezing and releasing. Tightening on the upstroke until Paul was forgetting how to form simple words.

“”Dar… _ah_!”

When he dared to look he could see that Daryl was nearly as gone as him, pupils blown and lower lip snugly between his teeth to keep any sounds in. He was lost in Paul’s pleasure. He moved their hands slowly and the pressure over the material was driving him insane. He pushed his hips up, tightening his own grip as pleasure pooled in his stomach, rippled through his body. He wouldn’t last long, not with the way the panties felt against his skin, a soft, constricting vice. 

He watched his length disappear in their combined grip, the material going taut against his sensitive head and let out a strangled groan. He thought it couldn’t get any better than this and wondered if he could snag a pair for Daryl. He nearly came from the mental image alone.

And then Daryl’s hot, damp mouth was on him and he nearly died.

Not to be dramatic, he thought.

His back arched and he had to fight not to violently buck up, to not grab that head and just let go. He moved both hands to Daryl’s hair, forced his grip to relax. Daryl’s hand kept steadily working him, as he sucked the tip through the lace, lapping at him, drinking him in. The sight of Daryl suckling him through the material had him moaning as heat ripped through him. He bucked and gasped, squirming in his grasp. Daryl pinned his hips with the other hand, pressing him into the mattress, beard rasping against his skin. Daryl gave a particularly loud moan around him, hand stroking him relentlessly. He sucked hard, not taking him in too deep (Paul was too grateful to press for more, that wasn’t Daryl’s area and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was). It was enough. Almost too much, he couldn’t escape deeper or further away with Daryl’s hold on him. He was trapped and felt like Daryl was devouring him. He laved at the head with the flat of his hot tongue and Paul nearly blanked out.

The pace was torturously, divinely slow. He couldn’t breathe. He squirmed and cried out over and over but Daryl wouldn’t stop the relentless assault. His mouth was so hot, touch firm and sure, now squeezing just right. The material clung wetly to him, rubbing against his skin with every harsh breath. He couldn’t get away if he wanted to. It was too much, staying on the right side of pain. His skin felt electrified, too sensitive. Daryl’s hair brushed his inner thighs.

His hips were restless. He tried to warn Daryl. Tapped him on the head, jerked his hips harder as the pleasure became more intense, reaching an inevitable conclusion. He slammed back into the mattress but Daryl never hesitated. He even thought he saw a smirk which may have sent him over the edge. Then his spine snapped into an arch and he didn’t see anything for a while as his orgasm ripped through him and his world whited out for a long moment.

When the world came back into focus he realised the undies had caught most of his completion, thankfully. Daryl gave him one last lick that made him shudder right down to his toes, before finally releasing him.

Paul nuzzled the pillow, high on a wave of sleepy bliss and he could feel Daryl’s eyes on him. He peeked at him and enjoyed that dark expression. He looked so pleased and smug. Paul smiled as Daryl leaned down for a lazy kiss. He could taste himself on him. Everything felt amazing against his skin, Daryl’s hands, his beard, his tongue. The soaked and rapidly cooling underwear, less so. He began to wriggle out of them so he could return the favour, make Daryl come so hard that everything felt like a dream. It was the least he could do.

“No.” Daryl barked out and he stilled.

Paul raised an eyebrow in question, finding it too difficult to form words at the moment.

“Leave them on.” His commanding voice was like gravel. Paul opened his mouth to protest (the feeling of spoiled silk was not such a pleasant sensation) but then really took in Daryl’s expression. Flushed and gorgeous, eyes silently pleading. Daryl ground against his bare thigh, leaving a damp patch, entire body shuddering with the effort of holding back. He wanted this so badly, he was getting it. Paul nodded in understanding. He rubbed his thigh against that hardness, smoothed his hands down his back, squeezed his ass until Daryl’s breath shuddered out of him.

“Anything you want, I’m yours.” He whispered. 

Right now he felt weak, completely boneless and ready to pass out so a small part of him hoped that whatever Daryl wanted wasn’t anything too strenuous. It was Daryl’s fault after all. He still shivered with the aftershocks, hauled Daryl closer as he ran his fingers through his hair, wrapping his body round him. He just wanted to be close to him. He kissed his neck and waited.

He saw when Daryl pulled back a little that his eyes had widened at his words. He swallowed hard, nuzzled at Paul’s neck. He stayed hidden there for a while and that was okay. Paul knew he needed a moment to collect himself. It wasn’t always easy for Daryl to hear the raw truth like that, but he needed to sometimes.

“You’re so good to me…” Paul murmured and felt a shiver of pleasure roll through Daryl’s body at the praise. “So gorgeous.” He meant every word.

Daryl pulled back, sat up on his haunches and gave him the most Daryl Dixon look of skepticism possible whilst sporting an impressive hard on that made his mouth water. Paul couldn’t help but laugh. “ _What?_ It’s true.”

He actually had the nerve to roll his eyes. But before Paul could tell him off, he was flipping him onto his front, a little rougher then was strictly necessary. But then again, he was so hard it had to be aching, so near the edge already. Paul lay still and waited with painful curiosity.

It felt absurd, lying flat on his front but it was clearly what Daryl wanted, if the way he was pawing his ass was any indication. He squeezed so hard, sitting braced on Paul’s knees until he was whining in his throat. He wasn’t used to being so passive when it came to sex but Daryl never made any demands of him. He felt like Daryl needed to have this. He knew Daryl was simply enjoying looking at him like this and let him have his fill. 

Paul idly wondered about the picture he made. He knew the underwear would still look good from this angle. There wasn’t much covering the back, but Daryl ran his thumbs over lace covered cheeks and it felt amazing. Paul gasped when he pushed his thumb into the cleft a little and rubbed, still a little sensitive at the front. Daryl draped his body over his until his breath was tickling the back of his neck.

“Wanna fuck you like this…” Daryl growled straight into his ear.

“I can tell.” Paul choked out, so aroused he wished he was a teenager again so he could do something about it. As it were, he could only push back helplessly against Daryl’s cock. The other man made a choking sound as he slipped between his cheeks, rubbing against material that was mostly lace and a rougher than the silky front. 

Paul arranged himself more carefully, bracing himself on elbows and knees and spreading his legs whilst Daryl growled obscenities into his ear. He was plastered against his back, arms wrapped around Paul’s middle. Their sweat slicked skin slipped against each other as Paul started to rock back against him, building a steady rhythm. He knew Daryl wouldn’t last much longer like this and doubted he could take the time to prep him, therefore full penetration was sadly out of the question. 

But this was incredible, this was lovely. To be held within all those muscles, the overwhelming heat of his body against his, all that power and attention focused on him. Paul’s hair swung forwards, shielding his face and he flushed, loving every second of it. Daryl’s hands slipped down to his hips, as he knew they would. He ground up and into him, pressing into his cleft, against the rough material and cried out in pleasure. Paul loved to hear him being so vocal. He pulled back, withdrew before repeating the action desperately. Press in then release, over and over.

It became quite frantic from then on as Daryl finally - _finally_ \- let go. Paul could only hang on as he went along for the ride. Daryl grinding into him, snapping those hips with every thrust, making animalistic noises into his skin. Paul pushed back just as hard, encouraging him with words and actions alike. He wished they’d done this properly. Wished Daryl was pounding inside of him, underwear shoved aside just enough to fuck. He shared that passing thought and Daryl had cried out, rhythm stumbling.

“Oh Paul…” He sighed breathlessly. 

“Come on, Daryl. Give me more. Want to really feel it…” It was a steady stream of nonsense but Daryl let out a desperate groan in response, moaning into his ear, before thrusting so hard Paul nearly went through the headboard. He kept up a steady stream of praise, anything to get him there.

He braced himself, transferring his hands from mattress to headboard. Daryl wrapped his body round him so he was nearly seated in his lap and that was better. Daryl could really shove against him from this angle. Paul could feel him trembling. His muscular arms were locked around him and he never felt safer or more desired in a world that had often made him feel so alone and unwanted. Daryl’s hands constantly shifted, touching as much of Paul’s body as he could as he gathered him close. His hips, his stomach, his back, ribs, any part he could get his hands on, so restless. Paul loved it. It was like he was reassuring himself of Paul’s presence.

Daryl pounded against him, a contrast to his tender touch. He suddenly gripped Paul’s hips so hard, circling his hips into him, hard and slow. His rhythm fell to pieces, hips stuttering, breath ragged and then he was falling to pieces. Paul could feel it, encouraged him.

“Yes, Daryl - my Daryl. So good…” The words were slurred with exhaustion but no less heartfelt. His knees began to shake from the effort of supporting both their weight as Daryl leaned heavily on him.

“Love you…” He heard Daryl murmur hotly in his ear, arms locked around him. His heart stuttered. It never failed to undo him, how earnest Daryl was in these moments. This was when he talked freely. In the dark or when they were entwined with each other. Or in times of danger. Daryl was a passionate man underneath it all. He just needed to let go before he could show it.

And then Daryl stiffened, stilled and he felt his release. Paul felt a pang when he realised the other half of the panties was probably ruined now too. Daryl let out a loud groan of pleasure that almost sounded pained. 

Then Daryl was scooping his hair back, using it to turn Paul’s head to one side so he could kiss him on the mouth, hungrily and so lovingly grateful. When he finished, Paul slumped back fully onto his lap with Daryl draped over him. He didn’t care how wonton he looked; legs spread, what he was wearing and what it was most likely covered in. He just wanted Daryl to hold him. 

They trembled in each others arms, enjoying the moment, the silence and calmness.

Then they slid until they were led on their sides, Daryl still wrapped around him, holding his body tight. He could feel his heart race against his back, felt it evening out. It took a while. Daryl’s hands stroked his sides, sliding down to his middle. Paul was confused when he felt the other man move away, protested blearily until he realised he was rolling the underwear down and off his body, before flinging it across the room. It was an unpleasant sensation and Paul was pleased that Daryl had thought of it. And made a mental note to find them before someone else could and be scarred for life.

“Thank you, love.” Paul said softly. It was an endearment that slipped out sometimes around him at times like these. When he was tired and vulnerable. If Daryl minded, he never said anything. He wrapped his arms back around him, skin to skin, effectively making Paul the little spoon.

He could feel Daryl falling into sleep and that was just fine. He had more than earned his rest.

____________

They dozed for a while and as the candles burnt out, Daryl surprised him by whispering into the dark: “Thought it’d embarrass you…But you’re a little weirdo.”

Paul snorted as his brain lurched back from a sleepy haze. His response was immediate if a little slurred. “That’s funny. ‘Cause for a gag gift they fit me perfectly.”

He turned over to get a good look at Daryl’s face. He saw Daryl attempt a glare but the corners of his mouth kept twitching up. He pushed a strand of Paul’s sweaty hair back. “Yeah, yeah I’m a weirdo too.” He sighed as though admitting it made him weary.

Paul laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with what we just did, Daryl. Nothing at all.” He emphasised, capturing his hand so he could place a kiss on the palm. He waggled his eyebrows to soften the statement into something more lecherous. Daryl sometimes teased him about his super expressive eyebrows. Said they looked like they wanted to immigrate and start fights of their own accord.

“I’ll keep my eyes open on the next run.” Daryl’s words were at odds with his actions as his eyes began to droop shut. It still didn’t stop his face from colouring in the way that Paul simply adored.

He felt a thrill of excitement at the suggestion. “As long as you don’t risk your life getting me them. That would be an embarrassing death.”

“Worth it.” Daryl replied and he just had to laugh.

Sometimes he loved him so much.

____

He’s glad that Daryl seemed to be at peace with what they had done together, that he was that comfortable with him now. But even so, when Tara ambushed them in the corn field to very directly ask them what happened to his Secret Santa present, they had both blushed right to their roots and Paul had even debated whether to kick her - just a little.

Whilst Daryl choked on apparently nothing, answering the question for her, Paul jokingly replied to her knowing grin with a wink and had teased: “Maybe I’m wearing them now…” 

Then he dragged Daryl away with a little of their dignity still intact, Tara’s laughter ringing in their ears.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought... ;)


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